As our tuk-tuk turned a sharp corner, a burst of lively music, singing and chanting suffused the air and our vision was suddenly filled with colour from a sea of vibrant saris, queuing tuk-tuks and vivid paper banners being held above head. Our vehicle ground to a halt as a crowd of Tamil Sri Lankan’s stretched out before us, seeming almost as endless as the rows upon rows of tea plants blanketing the mountainside of Lipton Seat, Haputale. The chanting rose and fell in a hypnotic manner as though mimicking the waves of the nearby Indian ocean, and this trance-like state was replicated in the faces and mannerisms of the Tamil people before us whose eyes were wide, white, and turned heavenwards as they swayed rhythmically to the sound of their companions. Astounded, we turned to ask our local guide and friend, Mangala, what was going on and in typically welcoming Sri Lankan style, he encouraged us to disembark the tuk-tuk and experience the event for ourselves. Soon, we were caught amongst the mass of colour, gradually being swept down the mountainside, the smell of incense filling our bodies, as the parade drifted along the narrow roads of the plantation. Everything seemed ethereally beautiful until, suddenly, we noticed the metal hooks piercing and protruding from the backs of many of the topless male Tamil participants, attached to string so that others behind them could hold them back by their exposed flesh itself. Although initially shocking, this act of religious discipline was a fascinating insight into the lives of the Tamil population and we quickly learnt we had only seen a fraction of this Hindu tradition, just as whilst visiting a country you can only experience a fragment of its vivid culture. What we were experiencing was Vel, one of the most important, though widely lesser known, festivals of Sri Lanka’s Tamil community celebrating a Hindu war God named Skanda. Devotees dress brightly and join parades with traditional singing, chanting and music which act as a ceremonial offering dance. During this parade, the Tamil often pierce their cheeks, backs or other body parts as a sign of devotion to Shakti. Although initially extreme and painful to watch, it is also a beautiful spectacle of religious dedication. After leaving the parade and beginning to depart Lipton’s seat, our minds were still full of the incredible and rare tradition we’d been lucky enough to witness but little did we know our experience of the Vel festival was only truly beginning. Driving along the main farm road, we were abruptly halted by a group of Sri Lankan’s urging us to pull over to the side of the path. Confused, we did as they asked and sat waiting with a feeling of apprehension until, along the road heading towards us, a procession of vividly painted vans echoing the vibrant sari clothed Tamils of the parade slowly emerged on the horizon and drove towards us. As they neared, we began to make out the trunks of very long palm trees, also brilliantly painted, hanging over the front of each van at a 45° angle to the road in a crucifix-like shape with ropes hanging from the top of each dangling over the path ahead. As they neared, my eyes opened wide in astonishment as, gradually coming into focus, were near-naked Tamil bodies hanging from the ropes by metal hooks skewered through their backs and legs. Although we had previously seen the piercings at the foot parade, this was a far greater act of devotion as the weight of each body hanging from the hooks stretched their skin away from the main frame of their body like rubber. The pain must have been excruciating but, admirably, the men silently swung from the trees as the vans etched along the bumpy road past us, as though they were soothed by the chanting of their fellow Sri-Lankan’s surrounding them and were entranced by the divinities they were worshipping in committing this act. In that moment, as one body swung what felt like just inches away from me, I felt I learnt a lot about the endurance of pain and its essentiality to life as an equal to joy.